


Baby, My Heart's Ticking Only for You (Do Androids Dream Remix)

by katilara



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-28
Updated: 2010-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katilara/pseuds/katilara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete draws the robots that he sees in his dreams and Patrick builds killing machines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, My Heart's Ticking Only for You (Do Androids Dream Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fictionalaspect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Baby, My Heart's Ticking Only for You.](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/553) by fictionalaspect. 



Pete is in the club again. He's working out all of his frustrations and worries in the middle of a throbbing, fighting, hectic mass of people. He's spinning and he's pushed and then he runs into someone. When he looks up he can't really see the guy's face. The guy mumbles. Pete watches the bottom of his lips, since it's as far up as he can see.

"What?" he says.

The guy clears his throat and says "I said, you'd make an awesome killer robot. You've got that pinwheeling thing down at least."

"Like Tock," Pete says. And then in the way of dreams they're at the bar. Pete still can't see his face, but he's looking directly into the guy's clavicle, so he's assuming the guy is a good bit taller than he is. They're talking about ditching, maybe getting some diner food somewhere. Pete wants so much more. In the dream he's sweaty and his pants are sticking to him and he can barely get the keys out of his pocket. The keys are heavy and cold and look nothing like electronic nub he needs to operate his SkyCar. When he wakes up he's soaked in sweat, and he can never remember who Tock is.

. . .

"You had it again, didn't you?" Patrick is sitting at the counter of their small kitchen sipping coffee.

Pete looks down and scratches his calf with his big toe. "How did you know?"

"Because when I woke up there was young man sneaking out of the apartment." Patrick looks up from his news tablet. "You can't keep kicking them out. You're starting to get a reputation, you know."

"Yeah, yeah. It just doesn't feel right. None of them are him. I need to find him." Pete steps into the kitchen and spends some time shifting from foot to foot, getting his feet used to the cold tile.

"You need to forget him," Patrick says. He leaves the tablet on the counter. It's out of courtesy to Pete, even though Pete has not read the news in the four years they've lived together. Says it just depresses him. "I'm late to get back. I'll see you after work. Are we going out tonight?"

"If you want to. Hey, Trick, you could always...that thing we discussed."

"No, Pete." Patrick closes the door behind him and Pete's left alone in the apartment.

"It might be my only chance, though," Pete says to no one.

. . .

"You look grumpy," Travis says, and Patrick just shakes his head. "Pete's on you about the new model again, isn't he?"

"Pete doesn't understand what we do here. We don't build sex toys. They're state of the art military weapons. They're front lines. You don't take front lines on a date."

"And why not? Time was not too long ago that the front lines _were_ people. Just like you and me. I'm sure they went on plenty of dates." Travis is looking into one of the new prototype faces. He pulls the eyelids back and studies the way the pupils react to the light. "I bet I could alter the AI for him. You know, so it wouldn't kill him in his sleep."

"Can we not encourage him?" Patrick says. "Besides, it's because of us that people don't have to be on the front lines anymore. That leaves more people able to just enjoy their lives and not worry about things like safety and security. That's thousands of more people Pete could sleep with and scratch off his list before he even needed to come to us."

"You are grumpy today." Travis types a sequence of code into the computer and the face smiles. "See, just like that." Patrick grimaces. "Your code could use some tweaking," Travis says. "You work here because you get off on worry, don't you? You get off on problems and issues. And best of all, no one bothers you. You don't have to deal with a single person except me. And I'm safe, because I'm not female and you probably won't develop feelings for me. Which one of you is really more broken?"

Patrick turns his back on Travis and starts working on his own model. It's stretched out on a metal slab and if Patrick hadn't built the thing he wouldn't have been sure it wasn't human. It is tall, because the larger the warrior the more menacing. Things like that still worked, miraculously. It has large feet and slim hips and broad shoulders and wide hands. Built to perform, built to withstand the force of something barreling into it at high speed.

It was the face, though, that Patrick was most proud of. For a long time Drones didn't have faces. They didn't need them. No one cared if a soldier could show sadness or fear or happiness. It was just going to get pummeled on the battlefield. And if it was built exceptionally well and the other side's Drones weren't, then it would come back, be refurbished, and sent back to some other battle somewhere. They weren't people. This was something that was drilled into every member of the scientific group working on these machines. But then they gave in to public pressure. People found them unsettling. People didn't want to think of them out there looking half human and half not. It was a scientific abomination. A reminder that they themselves were mortal. And mostly it was bad PR. So Patrick developed the faces and the models and codes by which they moved. Five years later they were all but human. The only thing they couldn't do was cry.

It wouldn't be that hard to make it like a human, if he thought about it. That would be an easy enough program to develop. Simulated warmth, simulated reactions to stimuli. But no, he wasn't building his best friend a sex bot. And he wouldn't, even if each one of these suckers didn't cost a half a mill easy.

. . .

Pete is sitting at the bar doodling a crude robot on a napkin when Patrick comes in. The robot is boxy, angular, and entirely impractical. Patrick gives him a look, eyebrows raised and his mouth slightly twisted.

"What?" Pete says. "Just because you're some kind of rocket scientist it means you get to critique my art?"

"It's hardly art," Patrick says, and pulls up a stool. "Besides, I haven't worked on a rocket in ten years."

"You started so young, and now you're so jaded." Pete smiles and Patrick pulls his hat down.

"So, is he here?"

"No." Pete takes a pull on his beer. "Besides," he says, turning his attention back to the napkin. "I was feeling nostalgic."

"Pete, you have never seen a robot that looked like that. They haven't made a robot that looked anything like that in close to three hundred years."

"I saw a replica in a museum once!"

Patrick smiles and it's smug. Pete knows he can't help but smile that way. All of his other smiles have been rusty for a long time. It's what too much time with machines and not enough time with people will do to you. "Like I'm supposed to believe you ever set foot in a museum."

"Hey, I went through preparatory instruction just like everyone else on this fine, slightly unstable rock of a planet."

Patrick is studying the napkin as well now. "Is that what he draws on the napkin, in your dream?"

Pete nods. He looks up at Patrick, his eyes dark, serious. "Patrick. What if I'm dreaming about a past life. What if he doesn't exist right now in this time?"

Patrick frowns. "Past lives aren't real," he says. "And besides, even if it was a past life, who's to say that you're not just dreaming about the good bits? What if he dies in a horrible accident? What if you fight constantly for years before one of you finally leaves? You can't base a whole relationship on a series of dreams that have never depicted more than two weeks of a relationship. And don't give me that look, I've seen the time line."

Pete looks down at the robot. He does have a time line. It's drawn neatly on some plain white paper that Travis brought him the night that their company had gone paperless. They were going to burn it, but Travis knew how much Pete liked old things. How much he'd enjoy just being able to draw on something like that as opposed to his tablet. He'd saved him boxes of reams of it. Pete hadn't slept for two days, just immersed in the feel of drawing on paper like they used to.

"Yeah. Maybe you're right. Thanks man," Pete says. He pushes away from the bar and stands up. He sways a little. Patrick shakes his head, because this is the way it always is with Pete. Pete will get wasted, find the closest thing he can to the guy from his dreams, and take him home. And then Patrick gets to clean up the mess later when the guy is kicked out of their apartment early in the morning for not being someone that doesn't exist.

As Pete walks away Patrick picks up the napkin and looks at it. He slips it into his pocket and leaves the bar.

. . .

"That's your model number," Travis says. He's standing over Patrick's shoulder eating a doughnut. The sugar is sprinkling Patrick's jacket and desk.

"I know it's my model number," Patrick says. He is in the middle of a crisis and Travis is pointing out the obvious.

"I don't know man, I think you should do it. Who's going to miss one prototype, really?"

Patrick spins around in his chair and looks up at Travis. "I can't just make one of the prototypes disappear, Travis. That's stealing. And not only is it against the law, it's against the policy of this company. Do you know what would happen to me if I got fired for leaking technology like that? What if someone got their hands on it? Better yet, what if you screw up the AI and it does slip into soldier mode and hurt someone. This isn't just as easy as giving Pete a new toy and making him happy."

"Yeah," Travis says, licking his fingers. "But Pete has been dreaming the model number of your newest work, something you didn't start working on until six months ago. And Pete, he's been dreaming that number for years. Maybe it's fate."

"There's no such thing as fate," Patrick says grumpily.

"I bet you don't believe in past lives either," Travis says, and shakes his head. "You live a life entirely devoid of hope, don't you man?"

Patrick opens his mouth to protest and Travis waves his hand, holding up one finger.

"No, don't interrupt. All I'm saying is, I have nothing to do in my free time for the next two days, and if I were to have to log in a little extra time in the lab working on a prototype AI, well, that would be for the better of all humanity Patrick. And you don't really want to deprive humanity of something like my genius in favor of Pete and I going on a bender, do you?"

Patrick stares at Travis for some time, thinking, and though Travis doesn't move a muscle, he's practically vibrating with excitement. This would be illegal. It would also be unprecedented if they could pull it off—in the western world anyway. It would put their names down in the annals and textbooks of robotics development for a long time. Travis ate all of that shit up and never understood why Patrick just wanted to keep his head down and work. But even more importantly, Travis had known Pete almost as long as Patrick had. He'd heard the stories about the guy, every detail. He knew just as well as Patrick did what Pete would need, and he was the only other person more qualified to make it happen.

"If you tell Pete about this before we get it done, I will kill you in your sleep," Patrick says.

Travis yelps and jumps into the air, arms raised. For all of his intelligence and innate talent, Travis really was the worst scientist Patrick knew.

. . .

Patrick comes into the apartment for lunch and it's dark. The blinds are still drawn, even though it's just past noon. Pete slept late most of the time, but he was usually up and working on some project or another about now. Patrick turns and motions to Travis to come in and bring the prototype with him. Travis shuts the door behind them. The robot, Patrick's robot, is standing in the entryway, and when Patrick draws the blinds it brings its hand up to shade its eyes from the light. It's amazing how human he and Travis had actually made it.

Patrick knocks softly on Pete's door. "Hey, Pete man, you up? Travis is here. We were gonna get some food." There's rustling so Patrick steps away from the door and heads to the kitchen. "Do you want some coffee or something?"

"No," Travis says, "not just before lunch."

"Yes," says the robot, and Patrick stares at it. It doesn't know it's a robot. It can't. If it did that would create a whole series of issues with t he AI software. They were striving for human, here. So on the one hand, it would buck the conventions that Patrick had programmed the robot with to deny its request. On the other, he just didn't want to waste coffee on something that didn't need it. He's saved from having to come to a decision by Pete opening the door and ambling into the living room. He is wearing nothing but pajama bottoms and is scrubbing his hand through his hair.

"Hey man," Travis says, and raises his hand a bit.

Pete looks up at Travis and is halfway into his easy smile when he notices the robot. The robot waves as well. "Pete, this is Mikey," Travis says.

Pete passes out.

. . .

"That was some introduction," Mikey says, and points at the ketchup. Pete hands it to him. He's barely touched his pancakes.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I don't usually pass out when I meet new people. You just remind of someone I knew."

"I understand man. I get that feeling sometimes too. Deja vu like, you know? Even though they've pretty much proven that deja vu is a trick your mind plays when it thinks you need a supply of comfort that you're not getting from your outside stimuli."

Pete is still staring as Mikey takes a huge bite of his breakfast sandwich. The egg slides and ketchup drips off onto the plate. "You sound just like Patrick."

"Do I?" Mikey says around a mouthful of food. That was decidedly not something Patrick would do. Pete smiles. Mikey smiles back.

Pete isn't sure whether this is comfortable or creepy. Mikey is exactly the way he remembers from his dreams. He wants to slide into his plan of attack. He wants to figure out what he has to say to get this version of Mikey to come back to his apartment and do all of the things that the dream Mikey did to him. He can feel his face getting a little warm at the prospect. He hadn't shared every dream with Patrick and Travis. Something about Mikey is too perfect, though. He'd think that Patrick had built Mikey, ready-made just for him, if he didn't know better. Patrick loved his job more than he loved any person. He wasn't going to risk it just so Pete could meet his boyfriend from a past life.

"Hey, slow down there," Pete says. "You're going to choke. It's like you've never eaten before."

"That breakfast sandwich had it coming," Mikey says, and attacks his potatoes. "Are you going to eat that?" Mikey is pointing a fork at Pete's pancakes.

"Well yeah, some of them, but we can order more if you like." Pete watches as Mikey stabs one of the pancakes with his fork and drips syrup on the table as he moves it across to his own plate. "I'll go and get some more," Pete says. Mikey smiles up at him, even wider than before. And that's weird. The lips in Pete's dream never smiled like that. They were always tight and straight. But Patrick was right about one thing, and that's that Pete doesn't know what happened for the rest of the relationship. Maybe this is really how it was, at the beginning.

Pete goes up to the counter and tells the bored looking waitress that his table could use another short stack. She types the order into her machine and almost instantly he can hear the sizzle of the batter on the griddle. Then he goes to the bathroom and washes his hands a couple times. He throws water onto his face and then wipes it off with the tail of his shirt. "This is what you wanted," he says to his reflection.

By the time he gets back to the table the extra pancakes are sitting at his spot and Mikey hasn't touched them, though he's eyeing them. "You're insatiable," Pete says. It's an innocent comment, but it's also a wish.

. . .

When Patrick gets home he's later than usual and he hopes Pete doesn't ask him about work. He's always been a terrible liar. The truth was that he and Travis were going to have to stay late every time that the robot came back to the building—presumably to meet up with them to hang out. They had to check the wear and tear, gather the data from its experiences, and build new experiences into its memory that wouldn't conflict with Pete's. They also had to hope beyond hope that none of the other teams got even a small idea of what they were doing.

Pete is sitting at the counter, kicking his feet so that they're clunking against it in a familiar rhythm. One of the songs he'd written for one of his failed bands. He looks up at Patrick and smiles extra wide. "Look at what Mikey did," he says, and waves a napkin in Patrick's direction.

Patrick doesn't need to look at the napkin. He knows what is on it because he'd seen it when he was reviewing the tape from the robot's point of view cam. When Pete had gone to the bathroom in the diner it had sketched a perfect replica of the napkin Patrick had seen Pete draw over and over and over again in the time he'd known him. It had then slipped it into the pocket of Pete's jacket while Pete was busy putting his thumbprint on the cashier's payment screen. Patrick tries to get up a grin, tries to be happy for Pete. "Is that the one?" he asks. There's a tug at his gut telling him how wrong this is, how angry Pete will be if he finds out. But he won't. He can't.

"And he's been sending me messages all afternoon," Pete says, and Patrick feels another pang, because Travis has been sending Pete messages all afternoon. Out of the two of them Travis knew what Pete wanted better than Patrick, because Pete and Patrick didn't have that kind of relationship and because Travis had played the part of boyfriend to Pete for a short time. They'd decided early on that Travis would send Pete the messages that needed to be sent and then program the memory of them into the AI.

"That's great," Patrick says weakly. "Hey, I'm kind of tired. I've got a long couple of weeks before me. Do you mind if I just kind of crash tonight?"

"Yeah, yeah," Pete says. He's already up, leaving his plate on the counter. He disappears into his room and Patrick can see through the door that he's been painting again. The digital canvas is everywhere. The colors are more vibrant than usual. Patrick moves the plate to the sink and rinses it. Pete is happy. That's worth more than the trouble, surely.

. . .

It's been four days since he first met Mikey and Pete hasn't seen him again. He's beginning to worry. The constant messaging is the only thing keeping him from feeling jilted. People are busy, he gets that. But then Mikey shows up at their door. He had knocked lightly and is looking sheepishly down at his shoes when Pete answers it. Mikey smells like smoke. Not cigarette smoke, but like something else that is immediately familiar to Pete. Burnt food. Pete was the only person that he knew that burnt food. Especially since ovens had been programmed to know what the perfect temperature was for anything since before he was born. They usually shut themselves off before something burned. Pete was just special.

"What happened to you?" he says after inviting Mikey in. Mikey is carrying a duffle, which he drops on the couch.

"My roommate. He set a pizza on fire."

"And I thought I was the only one who did that," Pete says.

Mikey gives a shallow laugh, but he doesn't smile. That's different from last time, but more true to his dreams. "No, not at all. There are other people like you out there."

"There's no one else like you," Pete says, and then he closes his eyes because wow, that was the least cool thing he's ever done. "I just mean, uh...." Mikey is looking at him evenly. "I've been with a lot of people, you see."

"So I hear," Mikey says, and then pretends to consider it for a bit. "Don't think word hasn't gotten around about you. I need a place to crash tonight though, while our apartment airs itself out. You're not going to kick me out in the middle of the night, are you?"

"Not if I can help it," Pete says.

"I've brought some movie chips," Mikey says, digging in the pocket of his jeans. "Classics mostly."

"Zombies?" Pete says hopefully.

"And some aliens to break it up," Mikey says.

"I think I love you," Pete says.

Mikey merely nods and places the chips in Pete's hand. Mikey's hands are dry and warm and Pete kind of wants them all over him right now, but that would be cheating. He feels like he should follow the script in his head as closely as possible if he wants to know what it was like for him in that past life. He doesn't want to alter the course of the relationship.

"Hey, you play?" Mikey says. He's looking past Pete to where his bass is resting against the entertainment tower.

"Yeah, a little," Pete says.

"Me too. We should jam with my band some time." Pete bites his lip and tries not to say 'I love you' for the second time in as many minutes.

. . .

"This is weird," Travis says.

Patrick comes over and looks over his shoulder. "What is?"

"Well these," Travis says, pointing to a bar graph on his computer screen, "are the parameters I've set for Mikey."

"The robot," Patrick says. "It's not a person, it shouldn't have a name."

Travis ignores him. "And this," he clicks to another screen, "is where he's at."

"It's at," Patrick says quietly. He studies the chart. "That's. Is it learning?" "It might be, but I didn't teach it to extrapolate. I only programmed it to be one thing, not to become something else."

"Is that, is it going to be dangerous for Pete?"

"I don't think so," Travis says. He turns and looks at Patrick. "That's what affection would look like if I were to program it."

"So you're saying the robot is getting to like Pete?"

"I'm saying that Mikey is reprogramming itself in response to Pete's stimuli."

"Well shit," Patrick says.

"If we can replicate this, we'll be set for life."

"This means we don't have to tell Pete." A sense of elation rises in Patrick's chest. He doesn't have to tell Pete. He has to lie to him for the rest of the robot's life, but he doesn't have to tell him that the thing never loved him. Because it does. Or it will. This is amazing.

"Not for a good long time," Travis says. "We'll need as much data as we can get, and the more Mikey can react to Pete the better it'll be."

. . .

It's 4am and Pete's still awake. He and Mikey had watched movies until about two in the morning and Pete had spent the entire time initiating contact, trying to communicate to Mikey without words that he wanted him. That he should offer to come to bed with him. But when it came down to it Mikey didn't seem all that interested and Pete passed off some blankets and left him on the couch. He was too frustrated right now to sleep, but they had only been together twice. He couldn't expect Mikey to just sleep with him because he felt like that's how it should have gone. And Pete couldn't know for sure that the sex he has in his dream is right after the movie night or some time later. Time in dreams never works the way it's supposed to.

He closes his eyes and wills time to move faster. He hears the door to his room shut and the sound of footsteps crossing his bedroom. Pete opens his eyes just as Mikey pulls back the covers. Pete looks up at him, his eyes rapidly blinking, trying to get rid of the dream before he can focus on what's really happening.

"Hi," Pete says.

"The couch, it's uh, cold," Mikey says and the words echo down to Pete through what might be hundreds of years. "Is this cool? Because um, I kind of hope it is."

"Yeah, it's cool" Pete says. Mikey slips under the sheets and Pete slides over closer to the wall to give Mikey room.

Pete lays there for a moment, not sure of what to do. He doesn't really know Mikey that well, but this is something he's been looking for his whole life. He'd be stupid not to take advantage of it, even if it doesn't go quite the way he imagines. It's very warm where Mikey's leg is running next to his under the covers. "Mikey, do you know who Tock is?"

"Huh?" Mikey says. He turns his head so that they're staring at each other across Pete's pillow, a space the width of an eyelash between their noses. He leans forward and his lips catch Pete by surprise. Pete's head rocks back some, but he doesn't pull away.

Pete let's Mikey kiss him for what feels like months. His lips are going numb. Their noses bump and their tongues wrestle for dominance between and in their mouths. Mikey is still laying his back and Pete is laying on his side. Pete is waiting to see who wins the battle of wills here, to see who's going to come out on top in the war. Pete knows who he's rooting for, though. When he looks over at the clock on his bedside table it's displaying 4:45 in big, bright digital letters. He is not getting to sleep tonight. He knows because he's done this before, and his stomach is knotted in anticipation.

"Let's fuck," Pete mumbles into a heavy exhalation of breath. And then when Mikey doesn't immediately answer, "you want to?"

"Yeah," Mikey says. "Did you want to—" And god does Pete want to. He wants everything. He wants it all now. But what he wants more than anything is to feel Mikey inside of him. He wants to feel him everywhere.

"Me," Pete says. He rolls Mikey over, scoots sideways so that Mikey's half on top of him and lays himself open. "Me, me, c'mon, please."

Pete's eager and Mikey looks a little amused. Perhaps he'd been misreading Mikey all night. He shifts so that Mikey's straddling him and Mikey dips his head down to lap at Pete's collarbone. "Calm down. We'll get there, I promise."

"Promises don't mean shit," Pete says. He grins wide and hugs Mikey tight, pulling him in close and getting to feel even more of him. Mikey looks light, but he's surprisingly solid. A warm feeling starts at the pit of Pete's stomach.

He gets impatient and wiggles a little, runs his hands down Mikey's back and dips his fingers into the waistline of his boxers. Mikey scrambles up and backwards and hastily pulls off his shirt and boxers while Pete shimmies out of his gym shorts. Then he looks up at Mikey expectantly, half sitting at the head of his bed. Mikey leans forward and grabs Pete. Pulls and tugs and cajoles until Pete is sitting in his lap.

They stay like that for a minute. Pete is getting used to the feel of Mikey's skin against his, to the shaky start stop of his breath.

"You're kind of small," Mikey says.

"Not where it counts," Pete says, and Mikey grimaces a little at the joke while Pete laughs. This is easy, this is the way it's supposed to be.

Mikey runs his hand down Pete's back, the long fingers feeling every ridge of Pete's spine on the way down. When he reaches the dip of Pete's back he pulls Pete forward, closer, tighter. Pete reaches his hand down and strokes Mikey for a bit. Mikey leans forward and softly bites Pete's shoulder to hide his groan.

"Just priming the pump," Pete whispers.

Mikey nods. He starts to lean then, and soon Pete is lying on his back, his legs wrapped around Mikey's waist. Mikey pulls away a bit and Pete holds on tighter with his thighs. _No, no, never letting go. Found you now._ Mikey reaches back and pats his calf. "Trust me," he says. Pete holds on for a minute more before letting go and laying flat. Mikey crawls down his body and hovers over Pete's cock before taking it into his mouth.

Pete watches Mikey bob up and down, his lips dipping into and out of the soft, fine hairs. Spit and pre-come wetting the base of Pete's cock and Mikey's lips. He makes sharp, half groan sounds in the back of his throat. Mikey presses a knuckle into the space between Pete's cock and his anus and Pete feels every muscle in his back and thighs clench up. He reaches forward and shakily taps Mikey's shoulder. Mikey looks up and Pete groans again.

"Where is the, uh," Mikey says, and Pete rolls over. He pulls out a drawer and rummages around for a minute before coming up with a half empty bottle of lube and a couple of condoms. Pete knows it's cheesy, but he can't help but smile as Mikey plucks the bottle from him and pours some into the palm of his hand. He watches Mikey coat his fingers in it and then spreads some around Pete's anus. Pete lifts his lower back up to oblige. It's cool, like the fluid drying on his cock, and it makes Pete eager to be warm again. He strains up.

Mikey takes his time. He works several fingers in and around, looking for that place that makes Pete arch his back and stutter out half curses. He sucks on Pete's cock a little more. He squeezes Pete's balls lightly. He nips and licks his way up Pete's torso until they're kissing again, sloppy and rough. Pete has never had someone work on him this thoroughly and he briefly considers chaining Mikey to his bed in the future so that he can't get away and share this talent with anyone else.

"Fuck," Pete grits out, biting back another moan. "Fuck, no, seriously, I mean it, c'mon, you're gonna lose me."

Mikey pulls back and smiles. A genuine smile this time, like the first time they met. Exhilarated. "Yeah," he says. He's panting a little. "Yeah, okay."

Mikey sits back. He slides on one of the condoms and Pete lifts his legs, spreads them wide. Mikey folds them in and pushes them down to Pete's shoulders. Then he enters Pete, and Pete yelps. He feels like there's burning everywhere. The muscles in his legs are being stretched more than they want to. They're aching to be let free. The burning dissipates. Mikey starts out slow, but Pete scrabbles at his shoulders and his back, not sure of what to do with his hands. Mikey starts to jerk Pete off some, but Pete pushes his hands away, whining. He can't get out how serious he was, how close he is.

"Alright then," Mikey says under his breath. He starts to push into Pete harder, deeper. Pete bites his lip.

"Shit," Pete says, and comes. The come is caught between their stomachs and gets sticky as it starts to cool. Mikey continues at the pace he's built and is coming himself in a few minutes. He leans over Pete for a while, panting, before pulling out and then flopping over onto his back.

"That was awesome," Pete says. "God, I'm hungry."

"You are always eating," Mikey says. He is staring at the ceiling, still absentmindedly drawing invisible lines on Pete's thigh. "Pete, do you ever feel different?"

"Different how?"

"I mean, can you ever feel yourself changing? Like calibrating maybe. I don't feel like the person I was a week ago."

"I never feel like the person I was a week ago," Pete says honestly. "I feel like I've been calibrating since I met you. I feel like everything has clicked into place now, though."

Mikey is silent for a moment. "I think I know who Tock is."

"What?"

"You asked me before, about Tock. I think I know who he is. He was a tin man in an old, old story. He protected someone young and vulnerable. Why did you ask me that?"

"Just something from a dream." Pete looks out the window. He can see the sun glowing orange through the cracks in the blinds. "Hey hey." He turns to look at Mikey. "Did you really try to pick me up with a robot?"

Mikey crinkles his eyes and kisses Pete on his cheek. "It felt like the right thing to do."

"Yeah," Pete says. "Mikey, you'll tell me, right? If you feel yourself changing again? I want to make sure I can change with you."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," Mikey says. Somewhere in the silence there's a very quiet _buzz-click-whirrrrr_ and Mikey nuzzles Pete's shoulder. "Robots never lie."

**Author's Note:**

> When I read over the original fic it read like a nice, perfect slice of life. It was the dream. You meet the perfect guy--someone who agrees with you about Mega Man--and things go swimmingly. I decided I wanted to up the conflict for the remix, so I moved it forward in time and made someone a robot. It made sense at the time. Thanks to lady_ganesh for talking me through it, and to kyasuriin for looking it over for me. And thanks to you for reading it.


End file.
